


I Need to Get Something Off My Chest

by Trans_Dingus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Gen, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Trans Character, Trans Stiles Stilinski, Vent Work, though that doesn’t really play a part in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trans_Dingus/pseuds/Trans_Dingus
Summary: Stiles has a bad dysphoria day.Derek talks him through it.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 105





	I Need to Get Something Off My Chest

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy so I’m not a writer?? Haha I don’t write often and when I do I never share it. But I myself was having a bad dysphoria day and Trans!Stiles was something that helped me through some rough patches so I decided to vent my own feelings through this little blurb thing.

Stiles was having a bad day.

He couldn’t exactly say why his day was bad but he supposed that was just another fun perk of having those crazy wacky things they call _mental illnesses._ He tried to rationalize within his own mind that his day wasn’t actually that bad, that he was just in a _mood_ , but all that did was serve to tick him off more, to set his teeth on edge and make his skin itch with irritation.

So he sat in silence, slumped in Scott’s lumpy beanbag chair with a chemistry book laid open on his lap and crumpled papers strewn about on the floor around him; a clear sign that he wasn’t focused. His foot bounced, making his knees bob and the words across the pages to go blurry as he tried halfassedly to focus on them.

Scott was rambling in the background, going on about lacrosse and _Allison_ and school and _Allison_ and the Pack and _Allison._ All of this was done in between barely strained breaths as his friend did reps on the pull-up bar in his doorway. Stiles tuned in every few minutes knowing he wouldn’t miss much; he offered the occasional noncommittal agreement and grunt, just enough for Scott to feel like Stiles was fully listening.

Some time passed and Scott swung himself easily off the bar, landing softly in front of his mirror. His tan skin gleamed with a thin layer of sweat. “I dunno’ man, I feel like I’m starting to plateau, y’know?”

“Mmhm.” Stiles had begun to twirl his pen in his hand, a good half of his attention going to keeping the pen moving nimbly between his fingers without dropping it.

“I’m just really frustrated with my chest, man. I feel like I’m not making any progress anymore and- Stiles?”

The pen had slipped from his hand, landing with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. Stiles barely registered its absence. He felt the day’s building unidentifiable irritation reach a boiling point, melting into hot anger and bitter jealousy. His eyes burned as he bore holes in his chemistry book and it took him a shockingly long time to realize they were burning with the effort to hold back tears.

“Stiles, man, are you okay? Your heart is going crazy dude, what’s wrong?” Scott’s voice was a dull drone, fuzzy background noise in his mind, but even with his blood roaring in his ears Stiles could hear the genuine worry in his friend’s voice.

It took everything in him to reign in his emotion. He inhaled, shaky and shallow at first but the second breath came easier and deeper. Scott was kneeling near him now, not directly in front of him and not close enough to be suffocating, concern etched clearly on his expressive face. He was treating this like an anxiety attack and _hell_ , maybe it was.

Scott began to reach out, the movement slow, and Stiles bolted upright, not wanting the physical contact in that moment. He moved so suddenly and sharply that Scott startled back a bit, his hand dropping back to his side as he took the movement as the refusal it was. “Yeah no sorry dude I’m just, it’s just… _anxiety_ y’know? Been kind of a weird day, I’m fine.” He spoke quickly, using Scott’s assumption about the situation to his advantage.

“Okay, do you need-,”

“Nah man I’m fine just gonna’ head home and chill for a bit. I’ll see you at the meeting tonight, okay?” All through this exchange Stiles had been packing his backpack. He stood, sparing Scott a quick glance as he moved for the door. His eyes were wide and full of concern but he nodded and told him to be safe on his walk home all the same.

—

The walk from Scott’s house to his had done little to ease the anxious, jittery energy consuming him. He let himself in, tossing his backpack onto the couch as he passed through the living room and took the stairs two at a time. When he made it to his room he shut his door and instantly began stripping down. His clothes felt like they were choking him.

He removed his flannel button down, kicked off his shoes and socks, hopped out of his jeans and ripped off his shirt. Finally he removed his binder, maneuvering his way out of the compression top with an ease that spoke volumes for how often he wore the damn thing.

With his chest free of its constraints he took the time to breathe deep lungfuls of air, feeling the oxygen stretch his ribs and burn his lungs. Then he stretched, reaching his arms up over his head and out and forward and back, feeling the burn in his muscles and the popping relief of the action. He made sure to take the time to be kind to his body, even when he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear at his chest with his bare hands while he cursed it for betraying him.

A few minutes passed, just his breathing and the occasional popping of his joints cutting through the silence. With a roll of his shoulders and a steeling breath he went to stand in front of his mirror. His eyes were drawn instantly to his chest, to the raised mounds of soft tissue and flesh that sat there, mocking him. He reached up to cup one of his breasts, just enough to fit in his hand. Truthfully it wasn’t much and he knew that, knew he’d gotten lucky to be built tall and wirey, knew that his chest could be bigger. But it was enough to make him angry, to make him hate his chest and hate his body and hate having to deal with binding himself flat just to feel whole.

Scott hadn’t meant to make him feel like shit; Stiles knew this rationally. But it was careless comments like Scott’s that sometimes burrowed under his skin and made a home there, festering until it reached a breaking point. Thoughtless little things that don’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things to other people but that meant everything to Stiles. Scott had a good body and even before the unexpected lycanthropy Stiles would’ve gladly traded. But now with the added _wolfieness_ Scott had built muscle, and he’d built it _fast_ , and he was toned and… he just didn’t _understand_.

Stiles dropped his hand from his chest and allowed it to join his other one being held out in front of him, palms up. Deaton said he was something special; said he had to the potential to be powerful. He was a _Spark_ ; rare, magical. He had _literal magic_ in his body and all he could do was occasionally make little fireworks shoot from his fingers and make some things happen if he just _believed_ enough. He scoffed, clenching his hands into fists. All the belief in the world wouldn’t suddenly make his chest the way he wanted; wouldn’t make the physical aspects of him match what was, and had always been, inside.

It wasn’t until he looked up from his hands that he noticed the tears he’d been fighting back for so long had finally spilled over, slipping silently down his ruddy, mole-speckled cheeks. He huffed, swiping roughly at his face before turning away and slipping into his bed.

—

Stiles woke to the sound of his window being slid open, unaware at first that he’d even fallen asleep. He blinked groggily, taking in the soft cool light seeping into his room. It was dark. He sat up without thinking and he locked eyes with Derek who was lingering near the window he’d just crawled through.

Derek’s gaze flicked down to Stiles’ chest and it was then that he realized he still wasn’t wearing anything; that his comforter had fallen away leaving him exposed. He could still feel those traces of anger from earlier, slithering hot in his stomach and it made him feel defiant. He made no move to cover himself under Derek’s gaze, was angry that he would even be expected to when other guys didn’t have to; instead jutting out his jaw and squaring his shoulders. Derek’s eyes didn’t linger long and when he looked back up to meet his gaze he looked just as bored and brooding as he always did.

It wasn’t like Derek didn’t know. The whole Pack knew; mostly because all of them had at least known _of_ him from before he started medically transitioning. Then once they were all brought together by the one common factor, Derek, Stiles knew he had to tell him at some point, so he just got it over with early on. It’s not like it would’ve been easy to hide something from an Alpha wolf anyway. Derek for his part had just raised an uninterested eyebrow at him and then gone on like nothing had happened. It had been an unexpected but appreciated reaction. This was the first time in over half a year where the subject of Stiles’ _transness_ would be so blatantly out in the open between them.

Derek, once again, did the unexpected and acted like nothing was different. “You’re late. Most of the Pack has been messaging you and Scott has been so _fucking_ annoying; he’s acting like you’ve been kidnapped.”

Stiles huffed, partly at how blasé Derek was being and partly because of how clearly he could visualize Scott going into mother hen mode.

“What, you’re just going to act like this is a normal situation?” Stiles asked. Derek’s eyebrows pinched together just barely; Stiles knew that to mean he was confused.

“Scott freaking out over nothing is pretty par for the course,” Derek replied slowly, like he was explaining something everyone just knew to be fact. “It’s you being late to a Pack meeting that’s out of the ordinary. You’re usually there talking my ear off about gods know what before anyone else even shows up.”

“Not the fucking _meeting_ , Derek,” Stiles snapped, the fire from earlier in the day reigniting in his veins. “You know I’m not talking about the meeting. I’m talking about-,” he flailed a hand in his own direction. “This. _Me_.”

Derek’s eyes tracked Stiles’ movement before settling once again on his face. Shifting his weight a little, Derek stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “What do you want me to say, Stiles?”

“I don’t know!” He yelled, impulsively throwing a pillow in Derek’s direction which the other man easily moved out of the way of. Stiles resolutely ignored the judgmental look the action awarded him. “I want you to stop playing dumb about this.”

“I’m not playing,” Derek replied immediately, his voice deadpan. Stiles choked with the realization that Derek was making a joke but before he could respond Derek continued, “Seriously Stiles I don’t know what you want me to say. You’re a guy sitting shirtless in his bed. Just like most guys do.”

“Yeah but I have, y’know, _tits_.” His mouth twisted in disgust and his shoulders slumped as the fight in him began to dissipate. Derek watched him for a brief moment before shrugging.

“I basically have tits,” he replied, the copied word sounding weirdly out of place coming from Derek. “They’re just… firmer. I could show you some exercises to help you tone, if you want?”

Stiles was beginning to feel a bit more sheepish as the conversation continued so he gathered up his knees to his chest and covered up a bit more with his comforter. Resting his arms across his knees, he shrugged. “That might be cool,” he agreed. “Have you been friends with other trans people?” He asked before he could help himself.

Derek considered this, looking down at the floor, then the wall then back at Stiles before offering a shrug of his own. “Not that I know of,” he said. “But you’re just. _Stiles_. You were an annoying mouthy asshole kid when I met you and you’re an annoying mouthy asshole kid now. _You_ know who you are, that’s all that matters.” 

Stiles blinked in mild shock at how easy and matter-of-fact Derek made it all sound. And maybe it was, in theory. Sometimes he had days where he couldn’t give a single fuck about what other people thought but then there were days like today, where things just got to him and ate away at the confidence he had in his self. The simple acknowledgement and affirmation of his identity went miles to help boost his mental state. “Thank you,” he said honestly though it felt incredibly inadequate in comparison to what Derek had just given him.

Hilariously enough it was the thank you that set Derek off, making him look instantly ruffled and uncomfortable. He grunted, immediately back to being monosyllabic and moved back for the window, swinging one leg effortlessly over the sill before regarding Stiles again. “Check your phone, reply to the pack and meet us at the loft.” Without waiting for a reply or even an acknowledgement he slipped out the rest of the way and, Stiles was sure, had already disappeared into the nearby trees.

Stiles sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, soaking in the interaction that had just taken place, and then jumped into action. He did as Derek had instructed, checking and replying to the messages from his friends all while getting dressed and grabbing the books filled with notes to go over with the rest of the Pack.

Before he left Stiles regarded himself once more in the mirror and offered himself a smile. He looked at himself from head to toe and brought a hand up to smooth over his once again bound chest. So maybe he wasn’t completely happy with everything about himself yet, but really, who was? There were parts of himself that he loved that made him feel good, from the veins in his hands to the square of his jaw to the hair that fought so valiantly to make occasional appearances on his face. Those were all great leaps from where he ever thought he could or would be.

The rest of him would get there in time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re a transmasc individual reading this please remember to be kind to your body and to stretch and take breaks from wearing your binder. Your body deserves to be cared for and it deserves kindness from you. Practice self-love as much as possible; one day at a time we’ll get through the hard stuff. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
